Ashes
by OneFrighteningLittleMonster123
Summary: She used to be human, just like Edward and Bella, but that was taken from her. What events shaped Victoria's life? How did she die initially? How and why did she meet James? The full story, from the very beginning to her second death.
1. Chapter 1

_They say you can only ever love once. I've always wondered if that was true._

Chapter One: Charles

England, 1868

"Victoria!"

I ignored the voice and continued to run up the stone stairs. I could feel my heart racing in my chest and my lungs started to burn. I had started running when I first walked into the building. My shoes had been lost near the stream – I would have to invent a story about them later. I had more important things to attend to, right now. Like Nana.

"Victoria!"

The voice was louder and closer this time, spurring me to run faster. The bottoms of my feet were sore from pounding up the stone stairs, but I did not slow the least bit, lest I get paddled.

Skidding to a stop, I bolted into my room and shut the door behind me. My eyes scanned the room quickly. I had perhaps about four minutes to destroy the evidence of my transgression and come up with a plausible explanation. Easy.

Without missing a beat, I popped away from the door and peeled off my dress. I winced as I heard the stays in the back pop, and it gave me a bit more trouble than I had planned when the stays hooked with my coiffure. I cursed in an extraordinarily unladylike fashion as several chunks of crazy-curled red hair pulled free from where it had been tightly pinned on my head.

I wadded up the gown in my arms and started to unfasten my petticoats. Before I could get the second one off, however, there was a knock on the door. Ninety seconds early. This required improvisation.

"Victoria, what the devil did ye get yehself into this time, little Miss?"

I tried not to roll my eyes as Nana opened the door without even waiting for me to let her inside. I tried to hide my wadded up dress under the bed, gently nudging it back behind the dust ruffle discreetly with my heel.

"Hi, Nana," I stalled for time. I really had been counting on those last ninety seconds.

"Miss, what have ye gotten into?"

I bit my bottom lip and pouted gently as she looked over me. Nana was a big woman – I was not, by any means, afraid of her, but she did have an intimidating appearance. I had decided when I realized what it was, that when I grew into a lady, I wanted to be intimidating, too.

She was very tall, even a bit taller than Mother. Unlike my mother, though, Nana was sturdily built, with large, muscles arms and a plump midsection. Mother was tall, graceful and slender, but she was meek. Even I could see her weakness to other people. I'd decided I wanted to be the best of both my matronly mentors; tall, slender, graceful, but not at all meek. They were not mutually exclusive.

Barely coming up to Nana's waist, I was hardly intimidating. And my short, pudgy fingers and skinny, stick-like legs were definitely not the epitome of ladylike grace. I still had a lot of ground to cover, but at least I could keep Nana from bullying me around.

"The Grovers' dog got loose again. I was trying to save Mother's flowers," I said softly, looking extra miserable for added effect. "But then the dog decided he wanted to play with me instead, and, I'm so sorry! But Nana, he was just so much fun! But he had been digging, so he was all dirty and when he jumped onto me, I got dirty too." I sniffled, letting a few tears run down my cheeks. "Please don't paddle me," I whined softly.

"Oh baby girl," Nana's hard exterior melted, and she reached down and gave me a hug. "Let's just get ye cleaned up before yer Mama comes home," she said. I tried not to smile, hiding my victory.

"Won't Mother be angry?" I asked in a breathy whisper. It sounded very convincing, even to my own ears.

"Baby, she will understand. Ye are only twelve, after all."

Buried in the folds of her apron as she patted out my tangled hair, I grinned triumphantly. I had won, again. And it had only taken a moderate amount of improvisation. When Nana pulled me away from her, however, my face had returned to a relief, still-slightly-petrified, innocent look. My heart was still thudding; I had one more lie to twist out of.

"I'll go start ye a bath, and then we'll get ye out of those dirty clothes," she said. I exhaled quickly in relief; she had just made my last trial so much easier. Nana, mistaking the reason for my relief, just smiled reassuringly. "Mother won't be angry, den' worry."

I bit back my smile as Nana turned away and walked into the bathroom. As soon as the door closed to keep the steam in as the hot water was drawn, I turned to my wadded-up dress under the bed.

Sparing the once-beautiful garment little mercy, I opened up the wad of fabric and pulled out my drawstring bag. I kicked the dress out of the way and glanced around my room quickly. I couldn't throw the bag into the dresser – Nana would look there for new garments, and it would soil the clean ones already in there.

I moved quickly, and opened one of the two French windows in my room and dropped the bag on the ledge outside. I shut the window just as I heard the door to the bathing room shut. I wheeled around and put my back to the window, eyeing Nana warily.

"Alright there, Miss? What are ye up to?"

"Just trying to air out the bedroom a bit… I'm afraid I made it smell bad," I said.

"Oh dear, den' worry about that. Come on, now, let's get you into your bath before the water gets cold and we have to draw yeh some more. Off with the petticoat now," she said before reaching toward me and peeling the layers of undergarments off of my body.

Several minutes later, I found myself left to my own devices, lounging in the tub of scented bath water. I smiled; Nana had left me alone after making sure I was clean. I was certain now that my mud-stained clothing had been taken care of. Mother would never know.

I sighed and leaned back against the tub. Once again, I had managed to keep out of trouble. I had to smile – I was very good. Both Nana and Mother would have probably paddled me if they knew I had been down near the stream and up in the trees.

My loot – some pretty riverstones, an arrowhead, a bit of broken glass that had been in the river for a long time – sat in the bag outside my window waiting for me.

It was not the red glass or my dirty dress or dangerous behavior that would upset Mother and Nana, it was the fact that I had been with Charles the entire time without a chaperon. Charles was a boy from the village. He had not been born into the aristocracy like I had, and Mother would have a fit if she knew I associated not only with the commoner, but alone. I could almost picture the lecture she would give about my reputation.

I had little interest in rules or in doing what looked proper – I did what I wanted to do, and ninety-nine percent of the time, I got away with it.

"_Look! I found an arrowhead!" Charles shouted excitedly while standing in the water, his britches hiked up to keep them dry. I glanced up from where I was standing on the bank, reaching for smooth, shiny rocks to add to my collection of river stones._

_I could not help but smile in response to his boyish grin – the smallest things pleased him, and I found that quality refreshing. Though he was not a gentleman by title, he certainly was by nature. Extending his hand out, he helped me across the river._

"_Find any of the rocks you like, Miss Victoria?" He asked, his eyes sparkling with the excitement of our treasure-hunting. In response to his question, I held out my hands to display the three rounded stones I had found already._

"_Yes, look," I replied._

_With a professional interest, he looked over the stones with scrutiny, examining the smooth edge. One was a simple grey stone with some glittering substance inside it. Another was a pinkish hue and vaguely resembled a heart. The third was a beautiful sea-blue color, also with flecks of the reflective substance._

_He 'Hmm'ed thoughtfully and picked up the blue one to look at it more closely._

"_This one is incredible, I have never seen one quite like it before, Miss Victoria," he breathed in admiration. "You have got a great eye."_

"_You can have it, if you wish," I offered almost shyly. Would he say no? Would he think it was silly? It was hard to tell with Charles, but if he thought me foolish, he gave no indication of it. Instead, his cheekbones raised, his eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened in disbelief._

"_You mean it, really?" His voice was laced with equal excitement, as if he had just received a gift on Christmas._

"_Of course," I answered with more confidence than I had asked the question with. "On one condition," I added mischievously._

"_Which is…?" Charles' voice was wary, and I couldn't help but smile._

"_Call me Victoria, not Miss Victoria, please. We're friends, right?"_

_Charles' grin widened a bit._

"_Sure, I can do that, Victoria."_

"_Great. Let's see what else is here," I said, as I slipped my two remaining stones into my small bag I always brought with me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charles slip the stone and the arrowhead he found into his pocket._

_I glanced back down to the water, looking to see if anything caught my eye._

"_Look, Charles! I found an arrowhead, too!" I lifted the small triangular stone out of the water triumphantly._

"_Excellent!"_

_I smiled as he congratulated my find, and I put the arrowhead with my other stones._

_We wandered through the water like that for quite a while. Charles was easy to be around. He did not ask the awkward questions, and he seemed to genuinely enjoy my company. He was sweet, and most importantly, he was one of the most honest people I knew._

_Though I could lie well to anyone I wanted to, I never felt the need to lie to Charles. He always understood everything I said, and accepted it as it was, never making a big deal out of unimportant things, and being concerned when larger things occurred._

"_Victoria, oh my, look at this!" Charles brandished something bright red. As he lifted it into the air, it caught the sunlight and scattered red light all over the stream._

"_What is it?" I asked, hiking up my skirts a little bit and splashing through the water over to where he was standing._

"_I think it is a piece of glass, but it must have been here a while. Look how smooth the edges are. And wow, look, it matches your hair perfectly." He held the glass up to the side of my face. It really was a beautiful piece of glass. I would have never thought that I would never thought that I'd find garbage so beautiful._

"_Gracious, it really is pretty, Charles," I murmured as he placed it in my palm for me to look at._

"_Do you like it?"_

"_Of course I do. I like the smooth sides of it and the color is lovely," I answered honestly. I didn't notice the silence that followed the question, and when I glanced up at him, his eyes had a rather strange light in them._

"_Would you like to have it?" His voice was oddly soft, but I didn't inquire to the tone. I tore my gaze away from his and looked down to the flame-colored glass in my hand and turned it over once._

"_I would love to have it," I murmured._

"_Then it's yours."_

"_Truly?" I glanced to him quickly for an affirmation._

"_Yes," he replied slowly, and I waited for him to continue. "On one condition, Victoria." My tone had been light and playful, and his had turned serious. That strange light was still in his eyes, and I felt my heart skip a beat._

"_What is it?" The question slipped out as a whisper._

"_Will you allow me to give you a kiss? On the cheek, of course."_

_I stared at Charles for a moment, and I felt a blush the color of the glass in my hand color my face. After a moment of silence, I nodded._

"_Yes, I would permit that."_

_Carefully, Charles leaned toward me and pressed his lips to my cheek._

_I grinned, opening my eyes. Charles and I had been treasure-hunting together since I had first been able to sneak away from the watchful eyes of my keepers and go out on my own. I had met him for the first time near the big Oak tree. I had tried to climb it, and slipped. Charles had caught me. He was three years my senior, but age mattered little when you could share everything._

_I promised myself that someday, I was going to marry that boy. I did not care what Mother or Nana would think of the idea. I knew what they would think already, and if they had any influence in my decision they would do everything in their power to stop it from happening. I sighed._

_The bathwater was starting to cool, and I heaved myself out of the tub. I reached for the towel nearby and wrapped myself in it, stepping back into my bedroom. Sure enough, my dirty clothes were gone. After checking that the door was closed and bolted, I went to the window and pushed it open. Reaching around, I grabbed my forbidden treasure._

_I shut the window, and after walking back to the bed, I turned the bag upside down. Five stones, an arrowhead, and the red piece of glass fell out. Seeing the glass, and remembering what I had traded to keep it, brought a blush back to my cheeks._

_I felt a bit foolish, but I picked up the piece of glass and ran my fingers over the smoothness of it. The silky feeling of the glass was very calming. Without pausing to think about what I was doing, I lifted the glass above me so I could look through it at the window. The room looked red._

_I pressed the glass to my lips and kissed it lightly. A flood of crimson washed through my cheeks and warmed my entire body, making even my toes tingle. I suddenly could not wait to see Charles again._

_I set the glass down and scooped everything else back into the bag. After getting to my knees, I lifted up the loose floorboard near the foot of the bed and took out the box I had hidden there. Opening the lid, many riverstones stared up at me. There were a couple other arrowheads, and some folded pieces of parchments._

_Not only was I meeting with Charles, but I was teaching him his letters. Charles had never learned to write, and he was probably going to go into metal working like his father, and never get the chance to learn. I, on the other hand, had weekly lessons. I saved my work, and whenever we met tri-weekly for our treasure-hunting, I would take it and teach him what I had learned._

_I dumped the contents of the bag into the box and set the box back inside the floor, hiding my transgressions. I kept the red glass out and set my empty bag on the dresser._

_After tossing my towel onto the floor, I crawled into my bed clothes. The sun was starting to set, and I could probably convince Nana that I still felt guilty about rescuing some flower patch from a fictional terror and getting my dress dirty, and she would bring my dinner in my bed._

_I paused in front of the large, oval arch mirror, and fluffed out my brilliant red hair. I smiled as the crazy curls framed my face. Not only was the brilliant red color out of fashion these days, but the proper style was to keep the hair sleek, smooth, and pinned back impeccably._

_Though I desired to be lady-like like my mother, I never wanted her smooth, slick ebony hair. She was always trying to force my hair to be straight, from hot irons to goats' milk, nothing ever seemed to work. I had the sneaking suspicion that somehow, mother took some devious joy from yanking away at my curls. Why she hated my hair so, I had no idea. If I had my way, I would wear it down all the time._

_I shook my head again, letting the shoulder-length curls bounce around madly, as if rejoicing in their temporary freedom. They would be permitted to cascade over my pillow tonight, but tomorrow morning, Nana would be trying to pin them up again._

_Drawing my night shift around me, I walked toward the bed and crawled beneath the layers of blankets and warmth. The pillow conformed to the shape of my head as the bed accepted my weight graciously._

_I hadn't realized how tired I had been after romping through the woods with Charles today until I had crawled into bed. Remembering Charles reminded me of my treasure in my hand. I moved my closed left fist in front of my face, and slowly opened my fingers. There was the piece of red glass._

_I could not help but smile. I rolled over onto my side and slipped the glass beneath my pillow. Once sure that it was safe, sleep came easily to me that evening, quickly overpowering my conscious body and taking me – not unwillingly – into its depths._


	2. Chapter 2

Secrets

England, 1872.

It had been a lazy day, much to my liking. Unusually lazy. Almost suspiciously so. I had been sitting in the drawing room for most of the day working on the new needlepoint project Mother was trying to coax me to learn. Coax was a kind word, and perhaps underserving of the pretense under which I studied the terrible thing. Perhaps threatened, bullied, or forced was a better word to describe how I came to my predicament. Nevertheless, I still welcomed the quiet reprieve I found myself in, even if I had to share it with my needlepoint.

I personally found needlepoint very dull, perhaps because I had a penchant for pricking myself more often than the fabric I was working with. It was dull, tiresome, and utterly stupid in my opinion.

There was no point and purpose to stitching, other than inflicting pain.

Perhaps that was why Mother had chosen to use it as a punishment of sorts. Once. There had been one occasion in which I had been caught with Charles that I had been unable to lie my way out of.

I sighed, pausing in my work before tossing the stupid frame aside. I wanted to go running through the woods again. I had not seen Charles in a week, and my heart was aching to be near him again.

Only last week I had realized a frightening fact: I was in love with him. Frightening, because Mother would never have such an arrangement. Frightening, because I wanted the arrangement more than anything else in the world. And frightening because I knew he felt the same way. We could, single handedly, ruin my family's name by running off together. Frightening, because I realized I did not care what shambles I left behind me. I was selfish.

I rubbed my fingers over a smooth, warm piece of red-colored glass. The glass was four years, two months and fifteen days old. I remembered the moment Charles had given it to me – it had been our first kiss, even though I had only been twelve, and he had been fifteen. It hardly counted by the standard for kisses these days, but I still remembered.

"You're thinking about that boy again, aren't you, Tora?"

The smile slipped off my face as my dream-like world shattered around me. I looked over to the doorway, eyeing Mother with irritation. Whether the irritation was for the wretched nickname she seemed to use more whenever I asked her not to, or for the veiled insult behind her sentence, I did not care.

I chose to ignore her, inclining my head toward the window and looking outside. Mother, with her ever-perfect hair and her frightening steel-colored eyes, continued to stand in the doorway.

Last month, Charles had introduced me to his mother and father. Never before had I seen such love in a mother's eyes. His mother was a beautiful woman, brown wavy locks and big brown eyes, a stocky, study build. Her hands were weathered from manual labor, but even so, her touch was softer than my own mother's creamy hands.

Charles' father was a kindly man, though I'd had no fatherly figure of my own to compare it to. If my father were anything like Charles' father, then I missed my own dearly.

It had been a gamble on both our parts; Charles was sure that his parents would understand our situation, but I had been afraid that they would breathe word of it to my mother. Whether they were kindly people or not, whether they had our best intentions at heart or not, it was still dangerous for them to be involved.

If they were really good people wishing to preserve their reputation, they would have gone straight to Mother and told her what Charles and I were up to.

However, as I had quickly learned, "good" and "kindly" were not often the same thing. By the definition of a good mother and Duchess, my mother was the epitome of it all. But Charles' parents were the definition of kindly and understanding.

His mother had graciously welcomed us into her home, and though her eyes had widened, and she had gasped slightly when he introduced me, she had been nothing but accommodating.

At first, his mother, Meredith, had fluttered around and tried to settle me into the most comfortable part of the house and tried to make accommodations that I would be used to in my own home. It wasn't until Charles interceded and informed her that were I such a fragile doll that needed such frivolities, I wouldn't have been playing near the stream where Charles' and I met every other day to begin with.

We had then spent the next hour sitting at their rough, worn kitchen table, laughing, talking, and exchanging stories about Charles.

"They like you, you know. A lot," Charles had whispered in my ear as we left.

That had been the last time I had seen him, a full week ago. I could only wonder what he thought of me. Did he think I had run away because his family was too poor for my tastes? Did he wonder if I had been caught, and locked up in my own home? Had he given up on me?

"Victoria."

Damn. My mother had not left. With an indifferent shrug, I glanced over in her direction. Her steel eyes narrowed at my nonchalance.

"Yes, Mother?" I inquired politely, though my voice had undercurrents of resentment.

"Forget about that boy. He's no good to you, he's a gold digger. He wants to inherit your fortune."

I turned and looked back out the window quietly. I had heard this argument before; I could almost predict its course. She would continue on and elaborate about the rules of polite society, and then explain how it was almost time for my coming-out in London next fall. I didn't much like the idea of having to pack up my things, leave the English countryside, and move into the city for a season of waltzing with men twice my age looking to bed me as a wife while my heart belonged to someone here.

"He will take your fortune and your virtue – if he hasn't yet – and then leave you with nothing. That is not how we go about business in our echelon. He is not one of us, dear, he is one of them. "

I just continued to stare out the window. If I gave any indication of irritation, it would spur her on a tirade, and Heaven only knew when she would stop.

"I wanted to inform you that we have decided to cancel your coming-out next year." I could almost hear the smugness in her voice, and I could tell she was provoking me. I tried to give no indication that I cared either way. I knew it was not because she had found it in the kindness in her heart and was going to let me marry Charles.

At best, it was a ploy to get a reaction. At worst, it was true, and she had even worse plans in mind for me. I sighed, and caved. I canted my head to the side to look at her, but continued to say nothing.

"I have found you a husband," she announced smartly. Her devilish grin widened when my façade broke. My head snapped to look at her, my skin pale and my jaw dropped. She knew that she had won.

"No," I said. "What about the fall?"

"I was thinking about that, and I decided that… you're too dangerous, Victoria. I can't afford to put you out in the public. Instead, I will arrange for a quiet marriage to a very nice man. You will be married in a month, and you will be a nice wife and raise a good family."

I had no response for her heinous idea. I could only stare, dumbfounded, as she smiled like a cat that had just caught its prey.

"What did you say," I asked slowly, my voice barely above a whisper.

"He is a Duke's son. He will make a fine husband, and you will bare him strong, handsome children."

I exhaled slowly, trying to rein my temper in. If I lost control of my anger, I would lose everything with this devil woman. After taking the moment to make sure my temper was quiet, I asked softly.

"Alright, I must ask – how many years does he have?"

Mother hesitated for a moment before answering, as if savoring the moment. "Thirty last fortnight."

I could not stop my reaction. Though I knew she only wished for my violent reactions and that she took pleasure in my recoil, I could not prevent my body from jumping from the chair and flying to the door.

It was not until I was back in my room and collapsed on my bed that I realized I had run the entire way. I did not bother to close the door – Mother would not follow me. She had her moment of triumph, she would not follow.

I think, perhaps, she had seen the look in my eyes. The moment the thought had passed through my mind, I believe she saw it on my face. The firepoker was near where she was standing. It would have been effortless to lunge for it, grab it, and smash it across her head. I had entertained the idea briefly, and as soon as I realized that if I did not flee the devil woman's presence, I might carry out my frightening crime of passion. I had fled so that I would not do something I would regret.

The part that frightened me the most was not the disturbing idea that I nearly killed my mother, but that if I did, I would feel no remorse for her death, only for the fact that I committed the act myself. I would feel remorse that I felt no remorse – as abstract as the concept was, it made perfect sense in my mind. And it frightened me.

I sat up on the bed, and in one, flourishing, punishing movement, I ripped my hair out of its hairpins. I bit my lip to keep from screaming in pain, but it was a sweet sensation. Some part of me was still human, to flinch and feel that sort of pain.

My angry curls tumbled around my body, bobbing to the middle of my back. I wiped the tears that had sprung to the corners of my eyes before thrusting my fingers angrily into my hair.

I had always known that something would happen. Eventually. I would go to London, wear an ornate gown, let the gentlemen of the ton dance with me in hopes one would seek marriage. I had planned on having a little time to devise an escape to marrying one of the gentlemen without ruining my family's name. But now, I had no time. And no way out. Not a pleasant way, anyway.

I slid off the bed and started pacing around the room. There had to be something I could do. I would not settle into the life of a common housewife, married into a life I did not want with a man I did not love.

I spun around in a circle, my panic starting to grow. The walls seemed smaller in my room, the space seemed more closed in. It seemed as the more I thought about my new situation, the tighter my room became. I found it hard to breathe, and my anxiety spiked to a point that I could not see well. My vision swam and my mind ran in senseless circles. For the first time, I panicked.

My vision cleared quite suddenly as my gaze landed on my dresser. There, right next to my bed, was Charles' glass. As clear as my vision became, everything fell into place.

My heartrate returned to normal so quickly, I almost felt a little faint from the rapid change. But everything was so clear now.

Damn my family. Mother didn't care about me, why should I care about ruining the last shreds of her family name and leaving her alone? Father had died when I was very young, Consumption had taken him. I did not remember much, Nana kept me away from him so that I wouldn't catch it. Two of the servants had to be dismissed into a doctor's care for quarantine after he had passed away. I had never heard from them since.

I did not care. I would go see Charles.

Tonight.

"Victoria?"

I did not wish to speak with Nana right now. Perhaps if I ignored her, she would vanish. I had to preparations to make.

I went to my closet and withdrew a bag. I pulled up the floorboard, not caring for what Nana saw. It did not matter, I was leaving permanently. I no longer had secrets.

I stuffed the letters that Charles had written to me once he had become proficient in writing, the silly rocks we had collected together, and a few other baubles that I held near and dear. The last thing I slid into the small bag was the red glass I always kept with me.

"Victoria, before yeh run away to yer man, I think there is something yeh should know."

I paused, and glanced over to the woman warily. Deciding that I had little time to work with anyway, and surrendering it now to Nana… I didn't want to take that chance. I grabbed my coat and shoved my arms through the sleeves and stopped in front of the desk mirror.

Mercilessly, I started yanking my hair back into a thick, wild braid, trying to tie the locks back.

"Here." Nana's strong arms reached and took my hair from my hands. Automatically, I sank into the chair as I was used to, and allowed her skilled hands to brain my hair. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. It was an odd sight – I looked panicked, terror-stricken, even. I looked older, too, as if my decisions had started to carve out of the workings the woman I wished to be.

"Can we talk, Miss?" I glared at her reflection in the mirror defiantly.

"I'm going, you cannot talk me from it," I warned.

"Oh, I know. But if ye leave, Miss, I am quite sure I may never see or hear of you again. Perhaps the best for ye, to be happy with the boy, but there is something I wish to impart before yer leave."

I stared at her reflection, her skilled fingers twisting my hair into a braid. Some of the wild, red strands sprung free, but most remained coiled in the thick braid. I rather liked the look; not nearly as confining as the coifs that high society demanded of me, and yet restrained enough that my hair did not impair my vision.

"About yer father, Miss."

I stilled, and my wary expression melted into something far more curious. I knew little of my father, due to my age at the time of his illness, and as such, no one had decided to inform me after the fact when I was old enough to understand. All I knew was it had been Consumption, but judging by the haunted look in Nana's eyes, she had more to tell.

"Yer father… was not the best of men, I'm afraid," she murmured, continuing to twist the long hair as she spoke. "And yer mother… is not actually yer mother." I saw her glance to my reflection in the mirror to check my response. I could only stare.

"What?"

"Yer father had an affair – several, really – but in one case, the woman became pregnant. "

I just stared at her, slowly processing the information. Sensing my trouble, Nana continued quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Pregnant with ye."

**Thanks so much for reading, and I would totally love it if you could leave me a quick review letting me know how you think the story is going. Thanks a million. **


	3. Chapter 3

~**I hope you enjoy this. Thanks for reading~**

"Yer mother was impotent. For whatever reason, the good Lord did not wish to bless her with a child of her own. Yer father tried many times, but yer mother could not carry. Her body aborted twice, and the devastation of losing two children nearly destroyed her.

"She wanted to keep trying, but the doctor thought if her body aborted a third child, it might kill her in the process. Yer mother was willing to take that chance to have a baby, but yer father was not.

"It was not unusual for yer father to go out and dally. It broke yer mother's heart, and the two become bitter toward each other. Fights broke out constantly, I heard them all meself. More, and more often, over smaller and smaller things.

"They used to love each other, really, they did," Nana explained in a rather detached voice, as if it were an easier story to recount from a neutral, third-party perspective. In a way, I imagined that it would. I could almost picture Mother as a loving woman, trying so desperately to have her own child, and then turning bitter and hateful when she could not.

I mulled over this new information in the pause Nana gave me to consider, as if she knew she was throwing a lot of information at me. Information that was, by nature, more difficult to process than most. After a moment, she continued quietly, still braiding through my thick hair.

"Then, finally, one day, yer father told her that he was a father. To a child. Yer mother about had his head when he told her, furious. She threatened to expose him and demanded to know who carried her husband's baby," Nana paused, finishing up with my hair. She smiled softly, wistfully, at some long-ago memory. I could understand mother's anger, after trying so hard to bear a child, and then her husband went and made one with another women… so effortlessly, as if to laugh in her face.

I frowned – I did not believe that the vision of my father in my head that I had created through the years that resembled Charles' father was at all accurate now.

"Her name was Imogen," she continued. My heart stuttered in my chest at the name. It sounded so perfect. Victoria, daughter of Imogen. It sounded much more plausible than Victoria, daughter of Winnifred.

"It's a beautiful name… it seems like… it would suit someone who was like me. What happened to her? Where is she now?" I was surprised at how well I was processing this information. I was at a complete understanding with the fact my father had created me – not with the woman I called Mother, but with another woman entirely. However, despite the ease at which I learned these things, my palms were still sweating and my fingertips still tingled. A very, very dark sense of dread had crept over me, as if the greatest sin was not the affair.

"She used to work for yer parents. She was a cook. An Irish immigrant, s'where your hair comes from, I'm sure. Imogen had beautiful, flaming' red hair, just like yers. And yer big, beautiful green eyes. Yer mother hated yer hair – it reminded her of the woman yer father had taken to his bed and given him what she could not," Nana paused, sighing, as if the story were growing too painful to tell.

I watched her exhale, and for the first time, I saw a sense of vulnerability in the strong woman I had known all my life. Her hands trembled slightly and the creases in her brow looked deeper now. Nana looked… old. Never had I imagined that such a strong, intimidating woman would grow old. Everyone did, I supposed, but it just didn't seem like something that would happen to her.

She looked feeble, as if shocked by the memories. I could only imagine what the ordeal itself had done to her. Perhaps it had hardened her into the strong woman she was now; the one I had always known.

I waited, Nana had more to say, but she was not quite ready to continue. After another moment of gathering herself, she looked up and continued her story.

"Imogen… died… in childbirth. She died giving birth to ye, Miss." Nana watched my face carefully, but I could not help the blood washing from my face. My palms felt warm and sweaty, my fingertips tingled even more. The chair I was sitting in felt like it could not hold me, as if the flimsy wooden frame would shatter beneath my body. I realized, then, that my body was trembling. Violently.

"Here, Miss, have a seat."

With her rough hands, she lifted me up and eased me over onto the bed. Promptly, I collapsed onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, my mind reeling. Was it really such a surprise to learn that mother's reason for hating me was rooted so deeply in family corruption and scandal? Maybe it was only the fact that she had a reason for hating me that surprised me so.

Perhaps I had always known. Perhaps, deep inside of myself, I knew that something was off between my mother and I, something that existed between Charles and his mother that had never grown to bloom between Mother and I.

It was not that I was a bad person; it was simply that Mother could not love me because I was not hers. I felt tears prickle at the corners of my eyes.

"When Imogen died, the child was left with the father. Yer father had no choice but to raise ye, child. Normally, yeh would have stayed with yer mother, but… well. Imogen was a sweet woman. She had a bit of a temper, though. Ol' Irish blood." Nana laughed softly, reminiscing.

"One time," Nana conceded, dabbing a tear from the corner of her eye, her lips turned up in smile as she remembered something fond. "One time, the maid tripped and nearly dropped the silver on the floor. Imogen about thrashed her for it. I swear to yeh, Miss, Imogen chased that woman aroun' the kitchen with a fryin' pan for a full five minutes." I couldn't help but smile at the thought. The mental image of a small, red-haired woman chasing someone around the kitchen with a frying pan fit. That was something my mother would do. That was the sort of person I was related to. I liked the idea.

I entertained the memory Nana had provided me for a moment before new questions surrounding the scandal bubbled to the surface.

"But I do not understand… why would Mother want to raise her husband's illegitimate child?" I found it much easier to ask questions as a third party – not as the mistake in question. I could offer a polite, aloof interest, as if in the end it did not concern me.

"Well, she did not. At first. Yer mother tried to get yer father to put ye into an orphanage. No child was better than a wrong child, she said. She threatened to expose yer father for the cantankerous adulterer that he was."

"But she didn't," I said, when Nana paused. "Otherwise, I would not be here, would I?"

"Yer father promised her that if she ever breathed a word to anyone about his affair and child, then he would explain that he had to do it to have a child since yer mother was barren. And yer mother couldn't live with that shame, so she agreed to raise ye as her own child. As if Imogen had never existed."

I sighed, thinking it over. I had always wondered what Father was like, and now I had a rather descriptive idea about his nature. But everything about Mother made sense; she had always seemed to hate my hair, and I could never find any traces of my mother in me. Sure, I resembled my father. At least, I looked like the portrait of him. His cheekbones were on my face, and I had his high brow. My green eyes and red hair, though, were unlike any I had ever seen in any family portraits. I reasoned that I must be the spitting image of Imogen – it was no wonder my mother couldn't love me. She couldn't stand to look at me and see the woman who had bedded her husband.

"And ye see, yer mother was so afraid someone would find out about yer blood – daughter of an Irish immigrant – what would the ton think of yeh? What would the ton think of her? She had to marry yeh off in hopes that a respectable husband would marry yeh, and no one would find out ye were not her child."

I did not like this new information. I did not like the idea that mother had a rational reason for her terrible actions. It was almost easier to leave knowing she was wrong, I was right, she hated me for no reason. Now, it was harder. As much as she hated my hair, as much as she disliked what I represented, her motivations for marrying me off were to ensure a good future for me – and to keep the family name clean and free of scandal, too.

"How do you know so much about this, Nana? About… Imogen?"

Nana sighed shakily and looked up at the ceiling.

"I was there," she whispered.

I tilted my head to the side, not quite understanding. I waited, though, and sure enough, Nana lowered her gaze to mine.

"I was there when you were born," she repeated.

I felt a strange warming sensation. Nana had been with me since the very beginning. She had been at my birth; she had probably held me in her arms. The thought brought a strange feeling to me. Nana had always been the guardian I had outsmarted as a child. Now, in my more mature age, she had become more of a confident. I did not doubt that Nana was not as blind to the goings-on between Mother and I as she might seem.

A cold dread washed over me as I realized the implication behind her words. My warm, feverish feeling of adoration for the woman who was present for my first breath in this life vanished as chills washed over my body in their place.

"You watched Imogen die," I whispered.

Nana's haunted gaze was the only affirmation I needed.

"We tried so hard. There was so much blood…" She murmured, rubbing her face. "But I thought ye should know. About yer mother, and why she… well. That's the story then, and I can die in peace now, knowing ye know it. One last thing before ye run," she said. Nana reached into one of the pockets and fished out something.

On instinct, I held out my hands to her, and a cool chain with a weight on the end dropped into my hands. I held up the necklace to inspect the pendant closely, surprised to find an oval shape with a man's face carved into it. I looked to Nana curiously, awaiting explanation.

Nana rarely gave something to anyone, but when she did, it always had a purpose. She had always been a very practical person, and the idea of her giving out something as frivolous as jewelry was inconceivable unless there was a reason for it.

"His name is St. Julian. He is the patron saint of wanderers. I pray he will watch over ye on your travels. Ye were never made to be confined within these stone walls. Ye were born to a fiery young Irish woman who missed the wide open spaces of her homeland terribly, but had no choice to lock herself up in servitude. If she could have run, she would have run far, far away, back into the wilderness where something as wild as she belonged. It is no surprise to me that the day has come when ye need to run, now. And I doubt ye will ever stop moving. Yer spirit is too free for that, Miss Victoria. Be safe, little nomad."

I turned away from Nana before she could see the tears building in my eyes. I had not anticipating regretting leaving Nana, but there was nothing left to be done. It was time to go.

I made busy work of regathering my coat and bag, and with one quick movement, I turned and gave her a swift hug.

I had no wants and little regrets. For a woman who had had every known luxury at her fingertips, I was oddly complacent to run to Charles'. His parents would accept me, I was sure.

"Thank you, for everything," I whispered. Without waiting for the response, I darted past her and into the hallway. I ran along the carpet, not bothering to pay my last respects to the place I had called home for the last sixteen years.

It didn't matter anyway.

I was free.

~**Thank you so much for the various favourites and alerts, but I woul love for you to leave a review. Let me know what you're thinking so far~**


	4. Chapter 4

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I had not realized how dark it was as I leaped from the stairs and ran outside. The sun was setting behind the trees, but I did not care. I ran away from the large country manor. The grass whisked at my feet and caught the hems of my coat and dress. My black laced boots added excellent traction.

I drove forward, plunging into the darkness of the night. Once, when I was a child, I had been afraid of the dark. Someone would have to light a candle in my room at night before I could fall asleep, and if I awakened in the middle of night, the exhausted candle would have to be replenished and relit before I could sleep again.

Now, the darkness was my friend. It welcomed me into its waiting arms, carefully, beautifully and protectively. In the darkness, I was not Winifred's daughter, heiress to the Hillcrest fortune. I was Victoria.

And I was wild.

My heart raced, and St. Julian's pendant rested against my chest, like a shield of armor over my heart. Nana was right about something – I belonged here, in the wild, in the open, in the free, not in some castle's bedchamber with maids doting on me and making sure my bed linens were warm.

I had done some scary things before in my young life, none of them seemed nearly as frightening as bolting off into the woods in the darkness and not knowing precisely where I was going, and yet, I was not scared.

I had only been to Charles' place once before, nearly a week ago now. I was not entirely certain I could find it again, but I had no alternative but to try.

"Victoria!"

I could hear Mother's, no, Winifred's voice in the darkness as she yelled from the door. A pang of guilt hit my heart, but now that I was a part of this sweet wilderness around me, I could not go back. Ever.

It had been freeing when Charles and I went treasure hunting in the forests, but I had never been truly free when I did that. I always had to go home. Now, home was wherever I wanted it to be.

The thought made me throw my head back and laugh as I ran harder. Spurred my delight and the burning need to finally see Charles again, I continued to run until I physically could not. My legs buckled weakly beneath me, and my side heaved and burned. My vision swam for I could not inhale deeply enough with the blasted corset on.

I vowed, then, the next time I ever changed clothes, the corset would come off and never go back on.

My feet stopped at the river's edge. I was back at Charles' meeting place. I looked around, half-expecting him to be standing on the bank grinning. I smiled softly before stepping carefully across the smooth, moving waters.

On the other side, I took a moment to make sure I knew where I was going. In the darkness, everything looked different. Wilder. More dangerous.

Once certain that I recalled the way that Charles had led me the week before to go to his house, I picked my way through the trees, winding down through the brush. Twice, my coat got caught on a bush and I had to wretch it free.

Thrice, I thought I had gone the wrong way, and started to turn about, only to find the way back did not appear the way I remembered it.

My heart was hammering, sweat prickling on my brow, as I moved around. The shadows seemed larger and more intimidating than they should have been, but I plunged on. Worst case scenario was that I never found Charles and I died in the woods.

I reasoned that, in light of going home and marrying some thirty year old man, death was an acceptable alternative. I had nothing to worry about – I had nothing to lose, and therefore, there were no regrets.

I paused in the middle of the darkness, listening. Not for a sound that I had heard, but for a lack of a sound. No noise came from around me; no owls hooting, no crickets chirping. The pure darkness was unsettling, and for the first time, I felt a raw fear grip my body. I could not explain why my body felt the urge to run, but it did.

Behind me, a low snarl sounded. Without warning, I turned and ran. The sound of a large animal leaping from the woods bounded behind me, stirring me to run faster. As much as dying would be acceptable, I would try my hardest to reach Charles. I would fight for my last breath.

Branches whipped at me as I ran blindly, scratching my skin and causing me to bleed. The animal behind me growled again, its four legs picking up speed against the ground. It was gaining on me.

As if to spite me, my ankle caught a hole in the ground. It had been a miracle that I had not tripped before then, somehow. Running blind in the woods, I had managed to stay on my feet.

Now, within seconds, the ground crashed up to meet me, knocking the wind from my chest. With a cry, I tried to leap to my feet, but found that not only was my ankle caught, it was sprained.

Still willing to fight to live, I rolled over onto my back so I could face the oncoming animal. Blindly, in the darkness, I groped around for a branch or a stick to hit the brute with. I found a moderately-sized branch, and I drew it into my lap, and waited.

A low growl rippled from the brush fifteen feet in front of me. The plants shuddered, and a dark form leaped out of hiding. It must have been a wolf, or something equally fearful and powerful. I caught the glint of the moonlight in its eyes and its teeth as it came at me, airborne.

Holding the branch tightly in my hands, I waited, holding my breath. As soon as it got close enough, I was going to swing at it and hit it with all my strength and hopefully render it unconscious.

A soft, eerie whisper of a hiss sounded from a bush ten feet to my right. I couldn't believe my luck. There were two. How I was going to fight off two with a wounded ankle, I had no idea.

My heart was pounding so fast, I was certain it was going to shatter into a thousand pieces in my chest. Sure as the dawn, a second, shadowy creature leaped from the foliage at my right. It did not, however, lunge for my body. Instead, it caught the first animal mid-flight. They both went tumbling to my left, disappearing back into the darkness. One animal was fighting the other.

There was a loud, howling noise, a shrieking, and then, everything was quiet again. I stayed still, waiting to see if the living one would come to finish me off.

I heard no sound.

Slowly, I let out an exhale, continuing to glance around.

Still, no sound, even as I held my breath and listened. Carefully, I tried my leg. I pulled it free gently from the hole, wincing as it stung. It came free, however, and very carefully, while leaning heavily on a nearby tree, I eased myself to stand on my good leg. Very gently, very slowly, I lowered my weight onto the bad ankle. It protested and hurt, but it could support my weight.

I exhaled in relief. It would be slow and painful, but I could move. Leaning from one tree and reaching for the next, I carefully shuffled my way in the direction I thought was the right way to go.

"Hang on, Charles, I'm going to make it," I whispered through a grunt of pain.

"Don't go that way."

I gasped, and turned to my left quickly. A man stood in the shadows, taller than average, perhaps six feet tall. I could not make out much of his frame, but he stood perfectly still. The moonlight caught against some blonde hair and fair-colored skin.

His voice was heavenly. Sweet, smooth, very gentle, though there was something alarming about him.

"If you mean the Harrisons, they're the other way. Are you injured?"

Slowly, as if he were afraid that any sudden movement might frighten me, he stepped out of the darkness. I could not help but gasp.

It was as if God Himself were standing before me. He was tall – taller than six feet. He wore a dress shirt and pants with a long overcoat draped over the garments. His beautiful golden hair brushed in the wind. His face was that of an angel's: perfectly chiseled. I could find no flaw in his features. The moonlight seemed to make his pale skin glow. I felt a blush flood my cheeks; either God had sent an angel to save me tonight, or the Devil himself was in disguise.

His eyes glanced up to mine, and in that instant, I was sure he was no human. Angel or devil, I knew not, but human he couldn't be. His eyes were the brightest color of amber, but they held nothing but concern.

"Let me see your ankle," he said slowly, his words like music in the air. I could only nod as he knelt down to the ground in front of me. The sight of the golden angel on his knees before me struck me as odd, as if I were the one who should be kneeling before him.

"I'm going to try and help your ankle, alright?" He turned his face up to look at mine, concerned. I swallowed heavily and nodded, still leaning heavily against the tree. He lowered his gaze and lifted up the hem of my coat and dress gently. He sighed, discovering my leather walking boots.

"Why don't you sit down?" My heart raced as he asked, and I slid down the tree until my behind hit the floor. "Do you mind if I remove the boot? It might be broken, I'm afraid." Again, all I could do was nod, stupefied. Angel. He must be an angel.

Gently, he untied the laces and eased the boot from my foot. He set it aside delicately before reaching for my ankle slowly, again. I gasped as a swift coldness flooded through my ankle when he touched me.

The angel paused, and glanced up to me. His golden eyes peered through his matching golden hair.

"Forgive me," he murmured softly. He glanced back down to his work, and reached into his pocket. "Fortunately, it is only a sprain. Here." From his pocket, he withdrew a thin strip of bandage.

Again, with painstaking slowness, as if he were afraid he would move too quickly, he wrapped my ankle with the bandage.

"Not too tight, is it?"

"No," I whispered. The first word I had been able to say to my guardian angel. He smiled appreciatively, and nodded. With grace I had never seen in a man, he eased my foot back into the boot, lacing it up just enough to hold my foot within the boots.

Elegantly, he rose to his feet like fluid, and then extended his hand down to me. Carefully, I reached for his hand. Expecting it this time, his touch did not startle me. Perhaps angels were cold naturally.

Gently, he closed his hand around mine, as if I were made of glass, before easing me to my feet. Against my protest, he wound his arm around my waist, and helped me walk through the woods. He seemed to know precisely where I was headed.

I supposed angels knew everything, perhaps like God. I smiled faintly, blushing. He took the weight I leaned on him as if I weighed nothing, and I was grateful. Together, he supported me as I limped through the forest.

"How do you know where we're going?" I whispered, turning to look at him. In reality, I just wanted to hear his voice again.

"I've been through here before. Charles Harrison, right? His mother is Meredith?" When I nodded, he only smiled.

We continued on in silence. I could not help but notice how strong he felt beneath me, as if he could bear the weight of a thousand stones and not flinch. His hand was cold, but knowing that he was a messenger of God, it did not bother me. I felt safe.

Before I realized it, the angel had led me to Charles' doorstep. His arm slipped from around my waist as he stepped backward. I turned to thank him, for saving my life, for leading me to my lover, but there was no sign of him.

I looked around behind me, searching for any sign of the man. The night behind me was empty.

My angel was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

"Anything else I can get her?" Meredith's soft voice echoed in the quiet room. There was no response for a moment, and only the _pop_ of the fire in the hearth answered.

"Victoria?" Charles' soothing voice whispering in my ear, and I glanced up at him from my place curled against his side. I stared into his dark colored eyes before reaching up to brush aside some of his dark blond hair from his eyes.

"No, I think I am fine now, thank you."

Charles leaned over and pressed his lips to my temple. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. Pure bliss. I felt his arm around me squeeze me slightly.

"I'm so glad you are alright. I still cannot believe you ran," he murmured again.

We had been lying like that, curled against each other in front of his hearth.

Perhaps hearth was not the proper word. In my parlor, there was a stone hearth. Right now, we were wrapped in blankets, sitting on the hard floor in the kitchen before the fire that heated the kettle. Meredith had been impressed with my ankle bandage, and unsure how my angel-sighting would be taken, I said I had hastily done it myself.

Charles sat upright, and I leaned against his side, my head against his shoulder, his arm draped around me.

His mother had been positively shocked when she had answered the door and found me standing there, clothes torn and dirtied, hair falling down. One warm bath later, Charles and I were reconciling our lost time.

"I missed you," he whispered. "But… are you ever going to tell me what happened?" His hand came to touch my cheek, his thumb brushing along a scratch. I did not recall when I received which cut, but most had, undoubtedly, occurred when I had fallen, I was certain.

"I was just coming to see you," I explained as I tried to sound indifferent. "I missed you, too. I was tired of mother telling me I had to stay indoors and learn that dratted needlepoint."

I felt his body exhale suddenly beneath mine as he barked out a laugh.

"_You_ were learning needlepoint?"

"That was the idea, I believe. The blasted thing pricked me more times than the fabric."

"I just cannot see you like that. Sitting in a comfortable chair like someone's doll doing tasks like that. I can't see you as someone's typical wife." He shook his head slightly before inclining it to the side to rest against mine.

We fell into a quiet silence for a while, watching the fire.

"You know, I could see myself as _your_ wife," I whispered softly, afraid of his reaction. This was never something we openly discussed before, but given that I had fled my home and surrendered my family's title, I had little to lose, and only one thing I wanted: to be with Charles.

I felt the even rise and fall of his breath freeze suddenly. I held my breath as well, waiting to hear his reaction. Surprise? Anger? After everything, would he not want me? My heart pounded so loudly in my chest, I was nearly certain that he could hear it. Both of our bodies were still, my head still resting against him.

Very slowly, Charles leaned away from me. Gently, he straightened me upright so that I would not tumble over. I watched him carefully, but his face was blank as he continued to watch the fire.

I felt like I would break. All of my daydreams about Charles, my wants, my fantasies about being with him, even my romantic adventure of running off into the night to be with him were about to come shattering down around me.

I felt my arms grow cold while my cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. The back of my neck started to prickle slightly. I rubbed my arms and quickly stood up. One of the two blankets around me slid off, but I hung on to one of them, letting it drape around my arms. I covered the ground between the fire and the doorway in little time, but just before I was about to slip out, I heard him.

"You… would be my wife?"

I paused, leaving my back to him. I was ashamed that I did not have the courage to look at him. We had always been friends. Perhaps it had been in my mind alone that we had become more than friends. Some girlish fantasy. Perhaps Mother had been right; marriage was not for love.

"I would," I answered honestly, baring my entire heart to him. Even if he were interested in another, even if I had only been, at best, like a sister to him the entire time, Charles was not the sort that would crush me. He would be kind about it, but the rejection in and of itself would be devastating.

Where would I go? I could go back to Mother, I supposed. Physically. It would destroy me mentally to have such a love of freedom coupled with a taste of the wilderness and have to return. What would Nana think? And Mother. I could not live with a woman who hated me for no fault of my own. I had planned on living with Charles, thoughtlessly assuming my wants would mirror his.

"Victoria," Charles' voice floated in a husky whisper from across the room. "Are you telling me that you left your family, your fortune, and your comfortable life? And you would have me in its place?"

I slowly turned to look at him, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. His face, however, was surprisingly blank.

"Yes, I would. I would trade everything for you, Charles."

His face was like a beacon of light. A moment after I spoke, I supposed my words finally clicked in his mind, as his eyes widened, his grin split across his face and he leaped to his feet all at once. In three long strides, he had covered the ground between us and had taken my hands in his.

"Then I promise you, Victoria, I will make you the happiest wife alive, for you have just made me the happiest man alive." Before I could process what he was saying, he brought both of my hands to his lips and kissed each of them.

Realizing what he meant, my hands slipped free from his before wrapping around his body, pulling myself closer. His own arms came around my waist, resting on my back. I felt his lips at my temple, and I glanced up.

His dark eyes were damp with tears.

"Really?" He whispered hoarsely. "Really, you would have me?"

I could only nod, reaching up to touch his cheek.

"Yes, really."

His only response was to lean down and kiss me. Not on the cheek as he had always done before out of politeness, but a full lip embrace.

It was like fire rocked down through my body and my heart hammered in my chest, very much alive. A flush cascaded across my cheeks, and once he pulled away, I felt as though my insides had turned to ashes.

He reached with his hand and cupped the side of my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek.

"I love you, Victoria. I really, really do. I was entranced by this girl – this flame – who had such a blatant disregard for the rules that her status confined her to. I was afraid of you, too. Afraid of such an anomaly in society. As if perhaps you were not real. You were too beautiful, too wild to be that which your name claimed, and yet you were too innocent to understand the difference.

"Eventually, though, through the years, you changed. You grew up. You were no longer that innocent child who didn't realize what she did, you were a grown woman who did understand the consequences of her actions, and still knowingly broke her rules because she chose to do what she wanted. Very, very quickly, I fell in love with that wild spirit. She did not seem to care that we were not equals in society; we were merely two human beings existing together. It was the most beautiful thing in the world," he finished softly, smiling tenderly.

I could only stare up into his eyes. _I was getting married._ Wouldn't Mother be proud? To Charles. A grin split across my face and I ducked my head down, burying my face into his shoulder. I felt one of his hands on my back, and the other brushing across the top of my wild hair.

"I will build you a good home, you can have all the things you like," he was promising. I was too lost in my own daydream to hear him at first, but as soon as I realized that he was trying to quiet a nonexistent fear of poverty in me, I reached up and put my finger to his lips.

"Charles."

He looked at me, and I smiled kindly once I had his attention.

"I do not care if I sleep on a pallet of straw, so long as you are laying next to me on it. Understand?"

His eyes softened again, and all I could see was love in their depths.

"I think we can do better than straw," he murmured as he kissed my forehead. I giggled against him, utterly at peace to simply be so close to him.

A soft cough sounded from the door, and Charles and I both slowly turned to look. Meredith, Charles' mother, was standing there, looking a little ashamed to catch us in an embrace. I waited for Charles to step back, but he did not. He showed no signs of embarrassment, rather, he pulled me closer. I permitted this, unsure how to react myself. My training indicated that my reputation was at stake, I should flush and blush and stammer, but that was not the woman I wanted to be, only the woman I had been trained to become. So I smiled, and just curled closer into his chest, my arms tightening around his torso.

_Married._

I was going to marry Charles. My childhood sweetheart. Against all social odds, I had found the strength to do what I wanted. I laughed softly at the thought, and Charles touched my hair again.

"Mother, we are going to get married," Charles said softly over the top of my head. Warily, I turned in his arms to look at Meredith to see her reaction.

Her hand was placed over her mouth as she stared at the two of us. Her light blue eyes were wide with surprised, her lips parted slightly. I could not tell if she was upset or just surprised by the news. When the silence dragged on, however, I began to grow worried.

"Oh," she breathed after a moment. Then, the light returned to her eyes and she smiled. "That's wonderful! I'm just… concerned."

Charles' arms fell to his side and he stepped away from me to approach his mother.

"But I love her," he said. "And she'll have me, which is the most beautiful thing in this world. We can have a family together, mother. Victoria and I." He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled. "I could not ask for more."

"Well, no, dear," Meredith was saying, struggling for the right words. "I do not doubt that you two would be very happy together, and do not misunderstand – I would love Victoria as a daughter-in-law, but what of the public?"

I stilled as the harsh reality of our decision set in. Charles and I had been so wrapped up in our fantasy world of existing together that we had both temporarily forgotten about the real world around us. I could see the surprise on his face, as well. Sensing our confusion, Meredith continued.

"Do you not think that Miss Victoria-"

"Victoria," Charles and I corrected at the same time. We looked to each other and couldn't help but smile at the correction.

"Victoria, then," Meredith conceded, "Do you not think that they will talk? Do you not think her mother will allow this to happen? The moment that word gets out that the heiress to Hillcrest has forsaken her chosen husband to marry a commoner…" Meredith trailed off, and Charles and I exchanged devastated looks.

"So we cannot… marry then? Because of what my mother might do?"

"As much as you may dislike the idea, my dear, your mother has a great deal of influence in the public," Meredith said slowly, lowering her eyes. She raised her eyes to mine once more, smiled bravely, and then turned to Charles. "Charles, dear. You came of age two years ago. Yet you chose to stay with us. You know, the moment you wish to leave, you may."

"What are you suggesting, Mother? That Victoria and I elope?"

Meredith inclined her head, a mischievous look on her face. Charles gasped.

"You _do_ mean it!"

"Do not mistake me, Charles. I am not throwing you out. But I believe that, perhaps, given the… potentially scandalous situation you are in, a fresh start might be easiest for you both."

"Where would we go?" I looked to Charles, a little scared for the first time. He glanced to me, then back to his mother.

"We would have to go somewhere other than here. London, perhaps? Would you like to go to London, Victoria?"

"Would that be far enough away? I think the man that Mother wanted me to marry was from near there," I said, worried. Would London; a day's carriage ride away, truly be far enough? Would anywhere be far enough away for Charles and I to just live together happily? Was it just a hopeless cause?

Charles seemed equally concerned, and Meredith did nothing but lean against the doorway, quietly. I had the sneaking suspicion that Meredith already had an idea of an alternative plan, and it almost seemed - by the look on her face - that she was waiting for us to arrive on the conclusion on our own.

Catching my eye, she winked in my direction before looking back to her son.

"What if we left? Completely?"

I looked away from Meredith to regard my husband-to-be. I stared at him for a moment, unable to quite catch what he was trying to say.

"What do you mean?"

Charles paused, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Meredith smile slightly. She understood that Charles had found the answer.

"Victoria, how do you feel about America?"

I startled. America? When Charles had said leave completely, he truly had meant for us to abandon all our roots here and move across the ocean.

"But your family," I protested, looking to Meredith. The older woman just shook her head kindly, and waved her hand as if it meant nothing.

"Charles has always wanted to see America. I somehow knew that someday he would end up leaving England to visit there, and it seems to be the perfect solution to your dilemma, do you disagree?"

I looked between the two of them, and Charles smiled to his mother, and then to me.

"What do you say, Victoria? America?"

I studied him for a moment, and then smiled.

"America," I repeated in comfirmation.

"I asked around while you two were resting," Meredith said softly. "A ship leaves tomorrow night."

"This is so sudden," I whispered. In all honesty, I was frightened.

"We have a day, Victoria," Charles whispered, wrapping his arms around me again. Standing beside him, I was frightened. Wrapped in his arms, however, I felt safe. The idea of eloping to America with only a day's notice did not seem so intimidating when he held me.

We stood together for many minutes – I lost count after about five. He held me tightly, protectively to his chest, his fingers brushing over my hair.

"It will be hard work, Little Flame," he murmured into my ear. I felt my skin blush at the birthing of a new nickname. "We will not have much to start with, we will have to build a house ourselves, perhaps raise a farm… are you sure that is the sort of life you want?"

I peeked up at him from his arms.

"Will you be in it?" I whispered softly.

"Of course."

"Then yes, it is," I affirmed before curling back into his embrace. I felt his warm lips brush over my forehead in response.

"You are right, though. It is sudden. We have a lot to do tomorrow before we leave. Let us go to bed now. I'll show you to your room," he said, stepping away from me and taking my hand, leading me to the back of the house. He led me into a room with a single bed, simple furniture and a coat hanger. On the hanger, rested his coat.

"But this is your room, is it not?" I protested, turning to face him. He shrugged in response.

"I'm sleeping in the sitting room," he explained, and I shook my head in response.

"That does not seem right," I said.

"Please, Victoria, it would not be right for you to have to sleep in there, and it simply would not be proper to share the bed."

I had broken every rule tonight, except one. The feeling of unbound freedom twitched inside of me, and with renewed courage, I took his hand and pulled him into the room.

"Would it not? We will be married soon," I insisted.

I watched his eyes widen in surprise, and then soften with desire. I waited quietly while the gentleman warred with himself. Of course it was not proper, in any sense, but at what point did it no longer matter?

We had abandoned one society, so why were we still bound to the laws of it? As long as we were true to the laws that governed ourselves, was there really such harm?

"But if someone finds out, you'll be ruined," he exclaimed, worried.

"You are worried for my reputation when in twenty four hours, my reputation, clean or not here, will be completely wiped of any indiscretion."

That reasoning seemed to win, and the man inside of Charles won over the gentleman. His eyes no longer harbored any worry, they only harbored want.

I felt my insides melt at the look in his eyes; I would have Charles. Tonight. And tomorrow was the beginning of having everything.

Reaching behind him, Charles pulled the door closed and fixed his eyes on me. Instantly, the temperature in the room inflamed.

Without missing a beat, he reached forward and pulled me into his arms, my body melting against his easily. His lips found mine, no longer with the gentleness of friendship, but with the fervor of a lover.

My arms wound around him, pulling him closer yet, as if trying to merge our bodies into one. His kiss deepened, as did the passion, and with one, smooth maneuver, he lifted me up into his arms and carried me to the bed.

~**Please leave a review, thanks a million~**


	6. Chapter 6

I was not entirely certain what I had been expecting when the ship finally docked at Boston. I could tell when we neared the port – after seeing an endless expanse of ocean in every direction day after day, there was a restless stir among the passengers when we began to near America.

Charles and I had slept in close quarters the entire ride, sunrise and sunset, moonrise and moonset, star rise, star fall. I did not mind the closeness of our temporary living conditions – I was slightly uncomfortable with having to share it with fourteen other people. The ship was divided, and within each room, sixteen cots existed. It was not unpleasant, but it was not a preferential way of life indefinitely. A family of three had two cots between them; their child was expected to sleep with one of the parents, but being a youth of fourteen, there was simply no way he could fit comfortably.

Conversely, Charles and I did not mind being so close on a cot, and we had agreed to grant them one of ours. I doubted the son wished to be so closely curled next to his mother, and the lad seemed eternally grateful for our 'sacrifice.'

The entire capacitance of the ship was crammed on top of the deck in the brilliant sunlight – each of us so desperately wanted to see the port for ourselves, to be assured that we had, in fact, arrived.

In the fifty-two days we had spent aboard the vessel – Charles had counted and told me later – he had changed. From a well-groomed gentleman with a hard body from the manual labor he had to do, he had changed into something not entirely unlike myself.

Though he had never been a gentleman in title, Charles had always been one in nature. Despite his rugged work, he had always been well-groomed and refined in his tastes. I had been the wild one – no regard for society's rules, needs, wants or social constraints. I had not cared. If I had my way, I would have burned every corset in England and never worn my hair up again.

Though he may not have ever cared for the rules, Charles had always taken care to follow them; until we decided to run away together, and then they no longer mattered. I was his and he was mine, no other law governed our universe.

His blondish hair was no longer carefully groomed. It was a little bit longer than he liked, and he had taken up the habit of tying it back behind his head. His once smooth face was now prickled with facial hair.

His muscles were always firm, but his face had been soft. Now, his cheekbones stood out in sharp relief. His eyes were the same kind, loving eyes I had always known, but Charles had grown into a strong, hardened man, and I admired that.

According to Charles, I, too, had changed. I would argue that I did not change; I was simply allowed to fully assume the form I wished to be. The night Charles and I had spent together, when he had removed my corset, I had discarded it. The next morning, I took care not to pack the thing.

I had always been trim. Soft, perhaps, from want of labor, but not particularly plump. The softness had waned into leanness and muscles had appeared on my arms. My portion sizes had never been rationed before, but it had not been as difficult to adjust to as one might have considered.

Coming from a family of status, I was surprised at how easily I fell into a more common way of life. I loved the feeling of strength that came with it.

Out of sheer boredom, I had taken up the act of helping with some of the lesser labor that needed to be done on the ship. My newly toned and strengthened body had taken on a new, tanned look from the hours I spent on the deck in the sunlight. Some of the other England ladies were scandalized that I would help the crew move things around, but I simply could not just stand on the deck with a ridiculous coif and large brimmed hat, fanning myself and gossiping.

I had to _do_ something.

Charles had been worried that I would hurt myself, and when I grew thin he was afraid that I was not fed well enough, but eventually he realized that I was in perfect health – perhaps better than I had ever been in England.

We had both discovered a liking of the deck – in the bright, noontime sun, the English ladies would venture below to shade their alabaster skin. Charles and I, by contrast, enjoyed spending nearly all of our time on the deck. If we weren't helping – for he, too, could not stand still, especially if I had something to do – we were standing together letting the sun warm and tan our bodies as we watched the gentle movement of the waves rock the boat back and forth.

One night, we had been sitting on the cot together and Charles had been rubbing my hands. Large calluses had built up as I moved from handling light things to actually pulling at some of the ropes on the ship.

We both certainly looked a little worse for wear – I had brought only one gown with me to Charles', but his mother had given me a second one to take with me. Both were now worn, ragged, torn in some places, and rather dirty. Charles' clothes were in similar condition, but I was sure the smiles on our faces at the first sight of the port more than made up for our ragged appearance.

I glanced behind us: endless sea stretched. Somewhere, far away, my mother was perhaps furious, distraught at the turn of events, and perhaps, in a strange twist, she missed me. I tried not to dwell on that fact because I knew there was no returning.

I would do what _I_ wanted now. And I wanted a new life with Charles.

I turned to look at him as he squeezed my hand. We had been below deck to cool off when the first rustle of activity occurred on the deck. Instantly, we had moved back up to see.

I stood with my hands resting against the top of the side of the ship; Charles' right hand was resting on top of one of mine. My head rested on his shoulder and his left hand wrapped around my waist as I stood at his left side.

Strangely, when the ship docked, there was a large commotion. Most of the passengers – the weary prim and proper ladies of England mostly – were eager to disembark the ship. I watched them as they came out of the hold in brand-new dresses: they had brought an arrival dress that they had stored until they were ready to leave. Large hats shaded their eyes from the sun as they bustled off the deck. I did not doubt that they were either visiting family or looking around. Either way, in a month or so, they would be heading back to London. I doubted life here would suit their delicate souls for very long.

After the initial, impatient rush had subsided, Charles took my hand and led me into the calmer, more patient crowd of remaining passengers. In a timely, orderly manner, we disembarked.

Still guiding me, we weaved in and out of the crowds of people, looking for a place to gather our wits. All I had with me was a single bag – it was not even a suitcase. I carried one change of clothes, some hygiene products like a bar of soap, and my smaller bag of possessions.

I was not entirely sure what had prompted me to bring my jewelry. Perhaps habit – whenever I travelled, it was expected I would take my finer pieces with me. Perhaps it had been unconscious foresight: I never had any intention of wearing the gaudy pieces, but here, the jewels could be bartered for pay. Whatever the reason, I was grateful for the action.

Charles guided me by the elbow now, to keep me close, and we came to stop in the shade of a building. The docks were crowded, people meeting family members and friends, people trying to get onto ships and people just trying to get off of them.

The first sensation of panic set in when I saw a mother, daughter and husband walk together down the street, her clean dress barely touching the ground, her perfect hat shading her fair face. The true magnitude of our elopement settled in. We were in America. We had no home. No money, and no place to go.

My heart accelerated, and as if he knew my panic – perhaps we were so in tune that he did feel it as it rose – Charles wrapped his arms around me, calmly my anxiety.

"What do we do now," I mumbled into his shoulder, unable to keep my body from curling into his strong, protective embrace.

"Let's get out of the way," he suggested. Arm in arm, we walked down the street, our small bags being the only possessions we brought with us into this new life. The buildings of Boston loomed up overhead, carriages whizzing by us, store fronts glared out as people yelled and children cried.

"You know," I leaned in close to speak softly to Charles. "This isn't entirely unlike London. I'd hate to think we went so far just to end up in another London."

Charles chuckled at my response.

"Perhaps the countryside is more to your liking, then?"

I just smiled at the thought of a small little country house, perhaps with some farming. We continued to walk through the throngs of people, looking around, taking in all the sights of Boston.

At one point, Charles stepped into a side store to ask where we were and where we could go. As luck would have it, there was a small countryside community not too far out of Boston. Charles had relayed the information to me. We continued on foot through Boston and into the outskirts of the town, making our way toward the dotting of houses.

Once outside Boston, we could see the small grouping of a town in the distance. The road was a long walk, but it was not unbearable. The town was far enough away from Boston that it could harbor small town life, but at the same time, within an hour – perhaps a bit more - we could make the walk into town if necessary.

We both exhaled in unison, and turned to look at each other smiling. It would be nearly impossible to begin a life with next to nothing in Boston. Home prices were too high; we would have to both find work for a bit to buy a home, if anyone would even hire a woman. Country housing had a larger appeal – if nothing else, the countryfolk would be more generous than cityfolk, and might not care at all if a woman worked. They might even help us begin our life, if they were kindly enough.

Charles glanced over to me and smiled. I sighed, taking a deep breath. He leaned over and kissed my temple.

"I love you, my little flame, my wife," he whispered.

On the ship, we had sat on the deck in the starlight during the nights and talked quietly. The deck had always been nearly deserted then, except for the occasional deckhand. It provided us with an adequate blanket of privacy to plan our scandal in detail.

We realized quickly in our haste that on the boat, we had to pretend to be married already. That led to the realization that my reputation would be ruined before we could even start a life there if we arrived and then married.

As much as I wanted my wedding, it simply was not in our best interest. It would be easier if we arrived already married. As far as unification in the eyes of God, we both believed that loving each other unconditionally was binding enough. Neither of us feared Hell for not having an official church seal.

While sitting under a full moon, Charles had reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver band. Though there had been no diamonds or jewels, the intricate engravings on the band were much more beautiful.

He proposed to me that night, and our kiss beneath the moonlight sealed our unofficial marriage.

The band had fit my fourth finger perfectly, and had not been removed since. Even now, as we walked into the country, the sunlight bounced off of the engravings, tossing light everywhere. His hand laced mine as the cooler country air billowed around us: beautiful, clean country air, not at all the dirty, musty smell of Boston.

I inhaled deeply, drawing the freshness into my lungs. Trees shaded the dirt road, and we continued to walk hand-in-hand toward the small houses.

In a way, it was not the same as England. Though I had lived in a country home with Winifred, the countryscape that had encompassed the surroundings was not the same. I had thought that the forest I had run into had been wild. I had though the stream where Charles and I had played as young children had been the wilderness.

Nothing was as untamed as the American landscape. Perhaps it was the idea that it truly was not tamed. People – like Charles and I – travelled from England to this country because it was wild. It was a fresh start which is precisely what we wanted.

We came to a stop outside the town nearly an hour later, hot, tired, and more than weary. As we paused beneath the shade of a large tree, a woman looked up from where she was tending a garden for a house nearby. Gathering her dress in her hands, she rose to her feet and approached us.

"Well, hey there now, aren't you two lookin' a little lost?"

Charles and I both turned to face her. He approached her yard but paused outside, taking care not to step in. I stayed leaning against a tree in the shade. As excited as I had been about finding a home and staking a claim in the new world, I was feeling a little dizzy from the heat.

"Yes, miss, we just arrived," Charles said. "We haven't much, but we were looking to start a life here."

"Aw, well now, isn't that sweet? You might just be in luck. The Meriwethers are desperate to return to London, but haven't anyone to sell their home to. Without any kind of a sale, they cannot afford the fare," she said.

Charles and I exchanged looks, and I carefully peeled myself off of the tree and approached Charles' side. The smile slipped off the woman's face.

"Oh Lord, you poor thing! Won't you both come inside? I haven't anything for you, sir, I'm sorry, but for the lady I can give you a clean dress. Come in, clean up a bit and I shall pour some tea. Goodness, you really did just arrive, did you not?" Chuckling, she turned her back to us and walked toward her house.

Charles looked at me and his expression was priceless. He looked confused and completely floored. Neither of us had expected that from the kindly woman when we had simply inquired as to the state of affairs.

We exchanged mutual glances of surprise, and followed the woman inside.

"From London! How lovely," Eloisa Duncan exclaimed. Eloisa, the kindly woman with the cropped blonde hair that had let us inside her home was sitting across from Charles and I at a rustic, homey kitchen table. Charles and I had both bathed, and though he had shaved, he had decided to allow his hair to continue to grow long, rather than trimming it back.

I was fitted into a clean, cotton dress. Simple, of course, but it was clean. My hair had been washed, finally. Though it still insisted on the wild and crazy curls, it was clean, and braided back behind my head now loosely.

Charles ran a hand through his clean hair, and I could tell he enjoyed the feel of the lack of sea salt, too. I sipped from the cup of tea Eloisa had placed before each of us, enjoying the taste of something fresh and hydrating.

"My wife and I," Charles said after a moment, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "Were hoping perhaps you could point us in the direction of the Meriwethers? And is there anything we can do to repay you for your kind service to us this afternoon?"

"Oh, no, dear, it really was nothing. But your wife is absolutely charming, please promise me that if you are able to move into the Meriwether's, she will come over for tea once in a while," Eloisa said with a smile.

"My wife," Charles said softly, turning to look at me. "Will come if she wants to. I do not regulate her," he finished with a smile.

"Fascinating!" Eloisa seemed absolutely enchanted by the idea of a wife with her own will. "Then, dear, will you come see me if you settle in the area?" Her attention suddenly focused on me, and I smiled brightly.

"Of course," I said. I felt like the weight of a lot had been lifted off of me. Clean body, clean hair, clean clothes, to satisfy the physical, and the idea that perhaps our first roots had been put down. If nothing else, we had both found a new acquaintance.

"Excellent," Eloisa said smartly. "Shall I take you to the Meriwethers' now? I can make the introductions. I have known them for years."

Charles and I exchanged looks, then smiled and nodded.

Together, the three of us stood up. My heart fluttered – what if it did not work? Charles and I still needed to find a home if it did not. Nervous at the possibility of failure when options were limited to begin with, Charles and I walked out hand in hand, Eloisa walking at my other side.

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